True Shot (29 page)

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Authors: Joyce Lamb

BOOK: True Shot
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He thought he might love her.
And she was going to get rid of him the first chance she got.
He closed his eyes as he eased back and settled her snugly against his side, their breathing synchronized but calming. She continued to stroke her palm over his pecs, until she curled her fingers into his chest hair and tugged slightly.
“You won’t leave, will you? When my sisters get here?”
He almost laughed out loud with relief.
“I mean, you’re all I know right now,” she went on. “I feel . . . safe with you.”
He pulled her to him for a tight hug. “I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
F
linn Ford was so wired by the time he checked in at the Royal Palm Inn in Lake Avalon that the sign declaring JAMES DEAN SLEPT HERE just above another that read UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT didn’t impress him in the least. Neither did the lobby with its totally Florida décor, from the wicker furniture with cushions bearing large pink-and-blue flower designs to the large green plants that turned the lobby into a virtual forest. He could practically feel the freshly generated oxygen filling his lungs.
Letting the bellboy deliver his bag to his room without him, he headed into the nearly empty bar adjoining the lobby and took a stool under a thatched overhang that brought to mind a tiki hut.
“What can I get you?” the female bartender asked. She had a gracious smile that showed impossibly white teeth against the backdrop of a lightly tanned, unlined face.
“Whiskey and Seven. Make it adult sized.”
Her teeth practically glowed in the dark as she slapped a rocks glass on the bar and filled it with whiskey and 7Up. “Any snacks tonight?”
“What’s good?”
“Jalapeno poppers’ll kick your butt.”
He chuckled at that. Her prettiness lifted his spirits. “How did you know my butt needed kicking?”
She threw her head back and laughed, cleavage jiggling enough to be enticing without being vulgar.
“Bring me an order,” Flinn said.
As she walked away, he flipped out his cell phone and called Natalie. “What’ve you got for me?” he asked as soon as she answered.
“I found charges on Hunter’s credit card to the Hotel Sandpiper in St. Petersburg last December. No joy on placing him and Sam there now, though. They can’t check in without a credit card, so I’m still searching for a connection.”
Flinn knocked a knuckle on the shiny surface of the bar. “Keep looking. It’s all we’ve got. Get an agent over there to scope out the guests, too. Send them pictures of Hunter, Samantha and her sisters.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Any luck locating the other sister? Alex?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. An agent from Tampa has checked her home, the home of her boyfriend, her parents’ home and her workplace. There’s no sign of her.”
“So she’s in hiding.”
“Or she’s left the area,” Natalie said.
“If she has, it’s to meet with Samantha. We need to find her. Keep the Tampa agent on it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Someone’s going to screw up eventually.” He paused as the bartender returned with a plate of steaming poppers. He flashed her a thank-you smile and waited for her to move away before he continued talking to Natalie. “In the meantime, I need Marco and Dr. Ames to establish a small medical facility in Lake Avalon.”
“Sir?”
“Have them secure an abandoned building on a less-traveled road. Something small, a former urgent care or pet clinic would be ideal. After the hurricane and flooding last year, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Equip it with power generators, lights, running water, etc. Are you writing this down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Consult with Dr. Ames for a list of required medical equipment and supplies. Tell him to keep it to items that can be obtained at regular retail establishments. Everything he needs for the procedure. As soon as the location is secured, they need to hire some people to help get it ready.”
“Is there a time frame, sir?”
“It needs to be ready by tomorrow afternoon latest.”
“That’s quite a—”
“Get day laborers in there to get it done. Whatever it takes.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll check in with you in the morning.”
He snapped the phone shut on her next question, picked up a jalapeno popper and sank his teeth into it. Hot, salty cheese oozed onto his tongue, followed by the heat of spice. He savored the textures and the flood of flavors.
Taking Samantha apart after everything she’d put him through was going to provide even more pleasure.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I
t was two in the morning when Sam braced her hands on the vanity in the bathroom. Pain pounded in her head, an insistent throb in her temples that pulsed like something had burrowed into her skull and now tried to claw its way out. Her entire body felt rubbery and fluid, as though lovemaking with Mac had unlocked her muscles.
Or something else.
The tile walls blurred and shifted, and suddenly she was in the past, fingers locked firmly around her mother’s slim wrist.
“He’s not my father. Dad’s not my real father.” The realization sliced sharp and deep.
Her mother looked both horrified and terrified. “Of course he is, Samantha. How could you think—”
“I saw it. Just now, in your head. When I touched you, you were thinking I don’t look anything like Dad, how could anyone not realize I’m not his?”
“Saman—”
“Who’s Ben Dillon? Is he my real father? Where is he?”
Her mother tried to jerk away, but Sam held fast and firm, determined to get answers. “Tell me, Mom. Tell me about him or I’ll tell Dad the truth.” She gave her mother a chance, but she didn’t take it, so Sam used her final bit of ammo. “Tell me, Eliza.”
Her mother’s thin lips thinned further at the name, her actual name. “Northern Illinois. Outside Chicago.”
“Where, specifically?”
“Sycamore. He doesn’t want you. He never wanted you. I wanted you, Samantha. I did what was best for you. You have to believe me. He’s not a good man.”
Sam jerked back into the present and slid down to the ceramic tile floor of the hotel bathroom on a soft moan, her back against the vanity, her aching head cradled in her hands. Another memory took her over . . .
The front door, dark wood with three, small, diamond-shaped windows in a vertical line, swung open. He wasn’t what she expected based on her mother’s disgusted attitude toward the man. No beer gut, rotting teeth and suffocating body odor. He was handsome, with thick, chestnut hair and eyes the same dark blue as hers. Lean but not skinny, wearing faded blue jeans and an untucked green polo shirt. Just a normal guy.
“Ben Dillon?”
“Sure thing. Who’s asking?”
“I’m your daughter.”
His grin revealed white teeth. “Yeah? Which one?”
Her expectations took a header off a cliff. “I . . . I . . .”
“I’m just joshing you, kid.” He cocked his head. “What’s your name?”
“Samantha Trudeau.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“My mother is Elise.”
He leaned against the door’s frame, shoving one hand into a back pocket. “Don’t know anyone named Elise.”
“Eliza?”
He straightened away from the door and took a step back. “Holy fuck. I thought she ran off and had an abortion. At least, that’s what I hoped—” He stopped, and his face flushed. “I mean, shit, you’re my kid?”
“I have some questions.”
“I’m sorry, hon, but I don’t have your answers. I was nothing more than the sperm donor. Your mom didn’t take care of business like she should have. That’s not my problem. I’ve got nothing, so . . . sorry to disappoint you.”
Heat began to creep into Sam’s chilled cheeks. “She loved you.” She knew, because she’d experienced her mother’s anguish when this man ditched her.
“Not my fault she believed every word I said. I was a teenager, for Christ’s sake. All I cared about was getting my rocks off.”
Sam tried her damnedest not to let her disappointment show. “I still have questions. Of a genetic nature.”
“You sick or something?”
“I’m . . . I . . . I think I’m psychic.”
It took several moments for his shock to subside. Then, while a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, he stepped back and gestured her inside. “Please come in.”
Sam fell out of the memory to find herself on the cold bathroom floor, curled into a tight, shivering ball. Tears ran freely from her eyes, and her head felt as though a dam had burst, letting everything behind it spill out in an unrelenting wave . . .
“You tipped off the local police in Columbia, South Carolina, didn’t you?” The heat in Flinn’s cheeks indicated his blood pressure had spiked.
Sam stood on the other side of his large, gunmetal desk, hands behind her back, her expression serene. Like the good soldier he trained her to be. “Tipped them off about what?”
His chair squeaked as he pushed himself to his feet and braced his hands on his black leather desk blotter. “Arthur Baldwin called. He said his brother has been taken in for questioning in a serial-killer case down there.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“You’re the only one who could have told them who to look at, Samantha.”
She didn’t wither under his glare. She was done cowering, done denying that she had at least a little bit of power here, even if it wasn’t enough to get what she wanted most: to go home. “Perhaps he left behind witnesses when he raped and killed that last helpless woman,” she said.
“Witnesses who didn’t bother to come forward until now, right after I’ve got that bastard Arthur right where I need him?”
“You still know he knew about his brother’s illegal activities. Isn’t the threat of that getting out enough to keep him in line?”
“It will have to be, but it wasn’t part of the original deal. He’s pissed, and that jeopardizes the entire project.”
“Maybe you could try getting research funds the legal way.”
“You know I can’t do that, Samantha. The American people don’t understand what I’m trying to do here. They couldn’t accept it any more than they could accept the idea that aliens exist.”
“I don’t understand it, either. Perhaps you could explain this ‘project’ to me. Maybe I can help.”
“In due time.”
Frustrated with his refusal to confide in her goaded her to take a verbal swipe at him. “Are you ever going to admit that Arthur Baldwin is the businessman who drove your father to kill your mother and commit suicide?”
Flinn sank back into his chair. “How can you possibly know that?”
“You taught me to mine memories, remember? Do you think you’re immune? My question is, why didn’t you kill Arthur Baldwin a long time ago?”
He recovered his composure and gave her a bitter smile. “Revenge is sweetest when you can draw out the suffering. I’ve waited a long time for this. I won’t tolerate your interference, Samantha. You go behind my back again, and I’ll punish you. Do you understand?”
She braced against the fear that tried to weasel its way into her newfound bravado. He wouldn’t hurt her. He needed her. “I understand.”
Back on the bathroom floor, Sam couldn’t stifle a soft whimper as memories gushed into her mind like a waterfall pounding rock . . .
Sloan Decker slipped up beside her in jeans that hugged muscled thighs, a black cowboy hat and a denim Western shirt with pearly snaps. He saluted her with the drink in his hand, bestowing a charming, for-the-pretty-lady grin on her. “We’re aborting the mission.”
She smiled back, feigning flirty and flattered. “Why? All I need is a little more—”
“Flinn thinks you’ve been compromised.”
“I just talked to Adler on the phone. He sounded fine.”
“The intel is iffy, but Flinn doesn’t want to take the chance. We’ll have to use what you’ve got.”
She suppressed her eye-roll. “I can handle this.”
“Preaching to the choir, Sam. Meet me out back in two.”
She sighed.
“Sam.”
The set of his chiseled jaw gave off “just do it” signals.
“Fine,” she said. “Two minutes.”
A minute and a half later, Sam left her still-full Tanqueray and tonic on the polished surface of the bar and slipped off the wooden stool. As the beat of country music thrummed in her chest, she wound her way through the bodies crowded around the pool tables toward the back. How had Adler made her? She was certain that all he saw when he looked at her was sex on spike heels. All she saw when she looked at him: a slimy security specialist bankrolling a terrorist attack to boost business.
“Stormy, girl, where are you off to?” Vince Adler’s voice boomed behind her.
She turned a full-wattage smile on the over-tanned man, whose slicked-back black hair gleamed despite the muted lighting. “There you are. I was about to give up on you.”
“Got hung up in traffic. You weren’t leaving, were you?”
“I was in search of the ladies. Any clues?”
“I’ll walk you there.” His hand settled at the small of her back, subtle pressure steering her.
“Thank you.” She shifted to grasp his fingers, giving them a small squeeze as his intentions filtered into her mind. Get her outside and into the Caddy. Jimmy will take it from there.
Jimmy, his nephew, who had a knack for helping Adler get what he wanted. Bastards, both of them. And proof that Flinn’s intel was on the money.
In front of the ladies’ room, she said, “Thanks for the escort.”

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